


Now is the Time for Quiet

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24604000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Sometimes sleep comes whether you ask it to or not.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83





	Now is the Time for Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the photos from [this post](https://sushiandstarlight.tumblr.com/post/620178735277146113/my-heart-cant-handle-this-okay-it-can-only-get).

Crowley had woken up that morning in an empty bed. That much wasn’t a surprise. In the weeks that they’d been living in the cottage, more often than not he had awoke alone. The angel just didn’t sleep. He didn’t seem to mind at all holding Crowley while he fell asleep and even for most of the night, but most mornings found him in the kitchen with tea and a book, the kettle still warm for Crowley.

It wasn’t so much that Crowley wanted to be held all night (though, that didn’t sound bad) and it wasn’t the pang of waking up alone (though, it did smart a little)... It was the worry that the angel needed actual rest, himself. Armageddon, as failed as it might have been, had been taxing for both of them. Not to mention the thousands of years before that, navigating a world where they had to assume they were under constant surveillance. 

A few weeks of sound sleeps and Crowley could still feel the ache in his bones. The terror of Satan rising and pulling him down. The strain of holding the Bentley together through sheer force of will. The heartbreak of thinking he had lost the being dearest to him in the whole of the universe. No, a few weeks of sleeps hadn’t fixed all of that. He was still exhausted, mentally and emotionally if not physically. But, he felt better than he had at the beginning... And, that counted for something.

He pulled on a hoodie and shuffled downstairs. Surprisingly, there was no angel at the kitchen table. No mug of steaming tea, no book. The cottage was quiet except for the sound of bird song outside and the ticking of a clock somewhere inside. Crowley poked his head into the livingroom, but there was no angel there, either.

He just so happened to glance out the window on his way back to the kitchen and that was how he found him: laying in a hammock that hadn’t been there yesterday. He didn’t have tea, but he did have a book. The book was neglected now, spread open and hugged against his chest. None of that was the astounding part, no that Crowley discovered as his eyes roved up to the angel’s face. His eyes were closed, his breaths steady and deep even from here. Sleep, it seemed, had caught up with him at last; probably against his will.

Crowley returned to the kitchen and fixed two mugs of tea before stepping out into the late morning sun. He padded across the grass in bare feet before settling Aziraphale’s mug down where he knew the angel could reach it, waving a hand over it to ensure it would be the proper temperature no matter how long it sat. Folding himself to the ground, he leaned back against one of the trees that held the hammock. He cradled his own mug, taking small sips from it as he allowed himself to study the face in front of him. The worry lines of the years were smoothed away and, in stillness, so was the ever-present anxiety. The angel didn’t fidget or murmur in his sleep; he was all stillness and peace. Crowley doubted that he, himself, slept so peacefully with the kinds of dreams he tended to have- nightmares of his fall and of the world ending and of losing the most important being in his life. No, he didn’t sleep peacefully, but he was grateful to someone that his angel did.

The shadows had shortened and then returned and lengthened by the time the angel stirred. Crowley’s tea was long gone and he had taken to watching the birds swooping in and out of the trees above them, one knee drawn up and hugged to his chest.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale smacked his lips and blinked around blearily, “Crowley, how long have you been there?”

“Long enough. Okay, Angel?”

“You know, I think I might’ve drifted off there for a minute.” He peered over the side of the hammock and smiled at the sight of the tea beside him, the smile setting off warm feelings in Crowley’s chest. He had had to limit how much he doted on the angel over the years- never knew who was watching- but now there were no such qualms. He watched Aziraphale set the book gently, closed, on his belly and then pluck the tea from the ground.

“A little more than a minute, but I think you needed it, eh?”

“Maybe so, my dear.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while longer.

“I think,” and the thought itself was interrupted by a yawn, “hmm... I think I might drift off again, actually.”

“Good day for it.” Crowley lifted his face up to dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above.

“Care to join me?” Crowley turned back to him to make a comment about the size of the hammock, but it was bigger than the last time he looked. Aziraphale was smirking in a sleepy, playful way at him. The book was on the ground beside his empty mug.

“Sure, Angel.” He crawled up beside him on his knees and practically slithered into the hammock. Even so, it rocked dangerously for a minute before it steadied. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him and nuzzled into his neck, taking a deep breath before relaxing completely. With a gentle sigh, he was asleep again.


End file.
